


Sorrows Of Your life

by Clarounette



Series: Dance on the strings [2]
Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Historical References, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarounette/pseuds/Clarounette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short strand of the thread of Icarus' life: he dies when he falls to the ground. How will Pythagoras deal with the man's death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the first part of a long one that appears as the series Dance on the strings. Besides the prologue and the epilogue, there are two parts that can be read in any order.

At the edge of the balcony, Icarus stood on shaky legs. On his spread arms, wings of wax and papyrus. He was not ready at all.

 

His father was giving him his last recommendations. "Don't flap, glide." Daedalus' excitement made his speech hesitant, as if his words bumped into each other in his mind and he needed to speak slowly to rearrange them.

 

Icarus barely listened to him, especially when it proved unnecessary, like his warning about the sun in the middle of the night. Only one thing kept running through his head: Pythagoras' face, wet with tears, telling him he would never be forgiven.

 

He had been stuck between a rock and a hard place. Who would he rather watch die? No one, if he had a say in the matter. But he had none. Leaving his father in a cell meant a certain death, and he couldn't let it happen.

 

Under Goran's merciless gaze, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind that could appeal to Pasiphae's general. "I have news... Of Ariadne." It worked. Goran's orders became questions, a sparkle of interest burning in his dark eyes.

 

Taken by surprise, instead of telling artful lies, Icarus confessed everything he knew, except Pythagoras' name: their hiding place, the direction they were headed. What a fool. He sold his soul to save his father from certain death, and for what? Merely a delay, as Daedalus was to remain in his cell. Guilt and despair gnawed on his guts with angry teeth while he fought against the tears welling in his eyes.

 

As he left the hall, he came to a realisation – Jason had a chance to escape, considering his reputation. Icarus just had to hope that nothing bad would happen to Pythagoras. If he died, Icarus would follow him to the grave in an instant.

 

His prayer was answered though, and Pythagoras came back safe, although angry. He had the right to be, for sure. An angry Pythagoras was better than a dead one. Icarus only wished Pythagoras would understand the dilemma he had been faced with. He may have had a choice, but one he couldn't make. He had let the events go their own way, hoping for the best. If the best meant that Pythagoras would never forgive him, he would endure.

 

Pythagoras' teary eyes filled his mind and gave him some courage. Atlantis lay below, plunged into darkness, a black hole that asked of him a leap of faith if he wanted to help Pythagoras – a life for a life, tit for tat. Icarus had agreed to test the wings his father had built and to launch pouches of firepowder on Jason's enemies. Not to redeem himself – he knew he was past redemption – but to save Pythagoras, now that he could finally do something.

 

He glanced once more at the sleeping city and dizziness made him wobble on his feet. Ice-cold fear flooded into his veins, the idea of the fall freezing his blood and paralysing his limbs. He must jump though. He looked into the distance and then closed his eyes in a silent prayer. _I love you. I always have._ He breathed in and out, the fresh night air numbing his thoughts, and, with one last recall of Pythagoras' lovely face drenched in tears, he jumped into a void.

 

He screamed, certain he was falling to his death, until a gush of wind swept him away. He could hear his screams turn into laughs. The wind in his face, the sensation of weightlessness... If birds felt like this, it was no wonder why they sang happily day and night. Flying on air streams, he headed downtown to find Pythagoras.

 

Icarus saw a garrison assailing a warehouse, and he assumed Jason was there. He dropped a pouch on the soldiers who thereafter disappeared in an explosion. Feeling like Hephaestus, he poured fire on the earth, letting the flames lick Atlantis' walls and purify its streets of Pasiphae's poison. Elated, Icarus soared, staring at the moon, thinking maybe – _maybe_ – he could reach her.

 

He heard a commotion below him – from the ground, the ever confining ground – and came back to the scene, tearing off his eyes from the shining globe with great difficulties. He let go of another bag of firepowder on the unsuspecting soldiers who ran around aimlessly. In the middle of the chaos, he glimpsed at Pythagoras among Jason's group. His friend – the man he loved – was still alive and safe, and Icarus would make sure he stayed that way.

 

Just as he flew back, he heard Pythagoras call his name, but to no avail. An arrow pierced his wings, shredding them, and then he was falling to the ground.

 

It is said that one's whole life passes in front of one's eyes in the face of death. Icarus went through his whole relationship with Pythagoras, through all those years of silent pining, their first meeting when Pythagoras visited Daedalus, Pythagoras' lightened face – the face that made Icarus fall in love helplessly – when he talked about science, their late night conversations together with a jar of wine. There would be no more. His mind formed one last wish. _May Pythagoras stay safe and leave the city unharmed._

 

The hard cold ground took his breath away, and that was the only reason he didn't howl in pain. Each broken bone sent bolts of agony through his body while his organs shut down one after another. Hades was welcoming him with open arms. _I'm sorry, father. I failed you_ , was his last thought. Then darkness swallowed him forever.

 

*****

 

"Icarus!" Pythagoras shouted when the soldier shot at him. The arrow went straight through the wings. Pythagoras' next breath caught in his lungs as he watched his friend spining downward. When Icarus disappeared behind a high roof, Pythagoras' legs moved on their own and he ran toward where Icarus had fallen, his heart hammering in his chest. His last words to his friend kept repeating in his mind. In these uncertain moments, forgiveness seemed so easy to offer, and his promise sounded empty. Of course he would forgive Icarus, because he loved him. It would take time, but they would get there.

 

Time was what he had not. He went around the corner of the street and found Icarus lying on the ground, his wings shattered and his head bent in an awkward angle. The full moon threw an ominous dark shroud on his face. The air that had been stuck in Pythagoras' chest came out in a desperate whisper. "No."

 

He experienced an out-of-the-body moment. Fear had frozen him right where he stood, and yet he saw himself stumble toward the lying shape, dropping his sword even though he still felt the cold metal in his hand. It was a dream, surely, more like a nightmare. And then, the moment was gone. Advancing like in a pit of mud, he walked toward Icarus, one heavy foot in front of another.

 

Pythagoras fell on his knees beside his friend and put a hand on his chest, hoping against hope that he was wrong. A minute or two passed, and Icarus' chest didn't move.

 

Pythagoras' ribcage tightened around his heart and lungs, squeezing his poor organs to a pulp. He couldn't breathe. The world itself was now empty of air, of everything he thought as vital. He brushed the slowly cooling skin of Icarus' face with a trembling hand. Icarus' expression frozen on surprise hurt his heart. The man would never smile again – that happy smile that made him look younger than he was, the smile of a kid who knew nothing of sadness and hard times. Although now Pythagoras would always remember Icarus' quivering lips, a whispered plea carried by a shaky breath. He had refused to answer it, and now he would never have another chance. Icarus had given his life to save Pythagoras, Jason and the others, and he had died thinking he could never be forgiven when, in this instant, he already was.

 

As Pythagoras bent over and kissed Icarus' cold lips – the only kiss they would ever share – someone cleared their throat and made him jump. "If you're quite finished..." Hercules said from the corner of the street.

 

Pythagoras had forgotten about the others, about the threat of unbearable torments at the hand of Pasiphae if they were caught. His safety was the last thing in Pythagoras' mind. The world could burst into flames, for all he cared. Nothing mattered to him anymore.

 

Hercules looked at him expectantly, glancing at Icarus' immobile figure.

 

Pythagoras shook his head, salty drops of water flying from his eyes. He feared that, if he was to open his mouth, his words would dissolve instantly in painful sobs.

 

Hercules' lips turned down in a grimace of pain as his hand ran through his short hair. He made a gesture to reach for Pythagoras, but instead clenched his fist with helplessness. When Pythagoras gave no sign of following him, he came to him and took him by the elbow. "Come, Pythagoras. We have to flee the city."

 

Pythagoras resisted feebly. He didn't want to abandon Icarus in the middle of the alley, his body exposed. He attempted to carry him on his back, but Hercules stopped him. "We don't have the time. I'm sorry for Icarus, and for you. But we must go!" Crying, he was dragged behind Hercules until they met with the rest of the group just outside of Atlantis' gates.

 


	2. Chapter two

The strong feeling of déjà vu put a tired smile on Jason's lips. It was only yesterday when they last woke up on hard cold earth, the canopy of old trees as roof and their trunk as walls. They had had barely a day of respite – and hope – before being on the run again. Looking at his feet as he stomped on dead leaves and dry moss, Jason sighed bitterly. When would it end? When would he defeat Pasiphae once and for all?

 

Seeking some comfort from his friends, he turned to Pythagoras who was walking behind him, but the man was staring into space, blue eyes gleaming but a blank expression on his face. Hercules, a couple of feet away from him, was wringing his hands even as he walked, occasionally tripping on roots and stumps because he was looking only at Pythagoras.

 

Jason turned back as his brow furrowed. Something had happened when Pythagoras and Hercules left the group, something that hurt Pythagoras enough to distress Hercules. He wanted nothing more than to sit with his friend and ask him what happened, but he had a group to lead into the forest to a safer place, before Pasiphae sent more soldiers after them.

 

When he looked up at the sky to guess their direction, the forest seemed darker. Dangerous. He rubbed his belly nervously. Dread had begot a hungry and wiggly worm that ate at his guts.

 

They settled in a clearing long before sunset and they had plenty of time to build a big fire in the middle of their little camp. They did so in silence, not even sparing a glance at each other, tension making the tiny hair on their arms stand up with electricity. There were signs of a storm to come, although Jason knew that the agitation didn't come from the sky. A lot of talking was needed, but he had more pressing matters to attend for now. On a log far away from the fire, hidden in the darkness, Pythagoras sat, rocking himself back and forth. Hercules had joined him for a while, patting his back in an awkward gesture of comfort, but Pythagoras hadn't even looked at him.

 

The worm of fear in Jason's belly had feasted and it hurt as his guts tightened. For as long as he'd had to fight against Pasiphae and her evil plans, Jason had relied heavily on Pythagoras – and Hercules, when the man didn't try to screw up everything for a woman or a bottle of wine. Right now, when their situation was the worst, with Pasiphae back on Atlantis' throne and no chance of overcoming her, all he could think of, though, was the pain Pythagoras was going through.

 

Jason picked up a blanket on his way to Pythagoras and sat beside him. So far from the fire, the night air chilled his bones. He shivered before wrapping both of them in the thick cloth.

 

"Tell me," he said as he rubbed some warmth in his friend's shoulders.

 

Pythagoras' whimper woke up the hungry worm in his guts. It sounded so foreign in Pythagoras' usually lively voice.

 

Jason snuggled closer to him. "It's about Icarus, isn't it?" He had seen the hurt in his friend's eyes when he announced that the man was a traitor, and had understood it for what it was: Icarus was more than just a friend, which was a scary thought in itself. Jason knew the story of the boy who flew toward the sun and disappeared into the sea. His only solace was that Minos was dead and couldn't send away Daedalus and his son. Icarus' fate had changed, right? Or, like Medusa...

 

Pythagoras burst in heartwrenching sobs, his body shaking against Jason's side.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

"After he," Pythagoras sniffed. "After he helped us in Atlantis, he fell. He..." Pythagoras took a shaky breath in as he looked up at Jason with eyes red from crying too much, for too long. "He's dead." His voice broke on the last word.

 

Dead. A weight settled on Jason's back and he slouched under the guilt. His mission to ruin Pasiphae's plans had cost them another life, and had broken another heart. What's more, it was Pythagoras' heart, the purest heart Jason had ever known. A heart so vast and full of love that everybody had their place in it, and a cozy one.

 

What good did his presence do if he couldn't save their friends? He swallowed a lump in his throat. Did it mean that his mission was already doomed? That he could never save Atlantis?

 

His next words ground with desperation and left a salty taste on his tongue. "I'm so sorry, my friend." He wrapped a comforting arm around Pythagoras' shoulders. "So sorry," he repeated. Words failed him at expressing his deep sorrow.

 

Pythagoras seemed to undestand his struggle and didn't ask for more. He burried his head in the crook of Jason's neck and cried his heart out.

 

When Pythagoras' tears dried out, Jason kissed his forehead. "You should sleep," he said. "I'll be over there if you need anything."

 

Pythagoras rubbed his eyes and offered the most piteous smile Jason had ever seen. "Thank you," he replied with a tired voice. He gathered dead leaves at his feet for a pillow and curled up on the ground.

 

Jason waited for his breath to even and covered him with the blanket. He went back to the campfire, where Hercules welcomed him with a grateful nod. The others were already asleep, little heaps of clothes and flesh around the fire, and Jason joined them, although his slumber was fitful and filled with nightmares – beheadings and falls from the sky.

 

*****

 

When he emerged from a night full of silent tears and little sleep, Pythagoras was confronted with Jason's decision to sail to Colchis and retrieve the Golden Fleece to defeat Pasiphae.

 

Pasiphae, Atlantis... In his current state of grief, they were nothing more than words. They bore no meaning to him. He understood Jason's endeavour to put an end to his mother's reign, and it was certainly courageous of him to brave Colchis' dangers to do so, but he saw no reason to risk his life when he couldn't care less about the city. If he were to spend the rest of his existence far away in his friends' company, he would be happy enough. That wasn't the plan, though.

 

"I won't come with you," he announced.

 

Hercules stared at him like he had grown a second head. "Are you mad?"

 

Pythagoras couldn't bear the accusation he saw in his eyes – a reflection of his own state of mind, probably nothing else – and looked at his feet. "I won't go back to Atlantis either." New tears welled up in his eyes. "I don't have anything to fight for, now, and I was never much of a fighter anyway." He wiped his cheeks. "I'm sorry to leave you in such a dire situation, but I'm sure you'll manage without me."

 

"What will you do?" Jason asked as he put a hand on Pythagoras' shoulder.

 

That was something he hadn't thought about. He just wanted to be anywhere but here. He shrugged. "I heard Egypt has plenty of mathematicians. Maybe I could pursue my studies."

 

Hercules, pouting, said nothing. He retreated under a birch where, slouched against the old and gnarled bark, he looked lost in thoughts – a state so rare that Pythagoras worried instantly for his friend. He joined him, the trunk hard and unforgiving against his back.

 

"I know that it is selfish of me, but..." Pythagoras started, his feet tracing patterns in the dirt.

 

Hercules refused to even look at Pythagoras.

 

"You are not at fault, my friend."

 

"How can you call me your friend when you’re on the verge of abandoning me? Abandoning Jason? Ariadne? Everybody else?" Hercules asked in a harsh tone.

 

The words hit Pythagoras like an arrow to his chest. He gasped. He had lost a friend already, and he didn't want to lose another. "I'm sorry you think that way, Hercules," he said, tilting his head down in shame.

 

Hercules turned toward him with anger burning in his eyes. "What else should I think? You lose Icarus and, suddenly, we don't matter anymore. Have you thought about Atlantis? About its rightful king and queen and their sacrifice to save the city?" He breathed in and blinked away tears. "About me?"

 

"You don't understand! I can't –"

 

"You think I don't understand?" Hercules interrupted him. "Did I abandon you when Jason killed Medusa? I've lost the love of my life too!"

 

Hercules' pain sent shivers down Pythagoras' spine. Medusa was still a fresh wound, but he had forgotten her – and how he had been an instrument in her death. _How could I have been so insensitive?_ Mouth open and eyes wide, he avoided Hercules' glare, shame burning his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Hercules."

 

"I understand you better than anyone. I understand your pain and your desire to be alone. What I can't understand is that you give up, that you surrender to those feelings." He took Pythagoras' hands between his own. "Fight, Pythagoras. With us. For Atlantis."

 

Pythagoras stared at their joined hands, symbol of their friendship, but Hercules' palms seemed cold and hard like stones. Pythagoras' skin felt raw and too tight against his bones. As much as he wanted to follow Hercules' advice – his head was telling him that was the sensible thing to do – his broken heart wouldn't let him. "I can't, I'm sorry." He smiled tiredly, his lips wet with the tears that drenched his face. "I love you, and I love Jason. But I can't go on." He pushed away from the birch, looking everywhere but at Hercules. "I'll go with you to the coast, and then I'll take a boat to Egypt."

 

He left Hercules, trying to ignore that his friend was crying – but failing – and walked away.

 

*****

 

The journey to the shore was silent and awkward.

 

The tension between Jason and Ariadne was palpable, and both kept to themselves.

 

Hercules could only sulk, and his usually contagious smile had turned into an unhappy frown.

 

Pythagoras walked behind the group. He had already left them in his head and in his heart. All he could think of was Icarus' body, broken and cold, in the middle of an alley. His friend had left this world for the next one thinking Pythagoras didn't love him. That was, perhaps, the most horrible thing. Pythagoras hadn't had the time to forgive him, and now, it was too late.

 

The thought gave him a chill and made him shake with grief, but he had no tears left to cry – he had shed too much already.

 


	3. Chapter three

The group reached Keramoti a little before sunset, as the light of the disappearing star dyed pink ribbons on the village's roofs, and Jason decided to set up camp on the beach. Around the fire, they ate berries and an unknown but seemingly edible meat, quiet and thoughtful. Cassandra couldn't read their minds, but the Gods let her know the struggles they were going through. On the scarlet screen of the fire, images of pain and anger and sadness were revealed, and Cassandra didn't look away.

 

She saw Jason in between two women – one in red and one in blue, feelings of passion and loathing – searching for a path to Atlantis as his heart bled and red drops pooled at his feet.

 

She saw Ariadne dressed in white but alone at the altar, hands and feet tied, watching Medea run away with Jason.

 

More vividly, she saw a young boy with blond hair and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, fighting against a black creature, defeating it, and swimming away. She saw a large man drowning in his sins. They met and saved each other as each became the anchor of the other. But high waves soon separated them, keeping them apart, as black birds flew above their heads.

 

The visions faded and Cassandra blinked them away. Darkness surrounded her; the sea was black, the sand was black, and the sky was blacker. The fire moved shadows on the sleeping faces of her travel companions.

 

As loneliness wrapped a cold blanket around her shoulders, her grief became anger. The Gods hadn't deemed important to tell her what would happen to Melas. Cassandra still mourned her mentor and protector. Melas had made mistakes – some of them could still cost them their lives – but he only had her in his mind. She was the reason he betrayed the queen. Guilt was eating her alive; using her gift to help Jason and his friends in their endeavour seemed a mean as good as any other to make amend. Though the Gods had spoken to her, and Jason's quest would require more sacrifices that she wouldn't be able to stop.

 

As she stared into the fire, sleep swept her away. Sweet relief.

 

*****

 

Morning came and brought with it the moment they all feared.

 

Pythagoras and Hercules avoided each other, the oddest couple to ever break up. Their friendship was what had kept them alive all those years. It had pushed away Pythagoras' memories of domestic violence and filled the hole in his heart that leaving Samos and his little brother had created. Hercules had been drinking his life away when they met, and although wine remained a big part of his world, they both knew that Pythagoras kept him grounded – a lifeline when he needed one, immuned to his lies. Despite the strong bond they shared, they'd soon part ways, probably forever. Both deep in their despair, they couldn't even enjoy the last moments they would ever spend together.

 

They walked to the harbor where they went in search of ships. Jason had no luck, as no one wanted to take him and his group to Colchis. Pythagoras, however, found a boat to Egypt that would sail soon. He sighed, gathering his courage, and grabbed Hercules by his elbow. "I'll see you here in an hour," he said to the others and, dragging an unwilling Hercules behind him, headed downtown.

 

He opened the door of the first tavern they encountered. It was dark inside, and quite crowded already for such an early time of the day, but they found a table at the back nonetheless. Without a word to Hercules, Pythagoras ordered a flagon of wine and two cups. He was served in an instant; the wine was sour and the cups dirty, but he hadn't come here to drink anyway.

 

Noticing that Hercules hadn't touched his cup, Pythagoras served him and pushed the wine toward him. Hercules shook his head, crossed his arms over his large chest and looked elsewhere.

 

"Please, my friend. I don't want to part on bad terms."

 

"We'll part anyway," Hercules replied.

 

Pythagoras stared into his cup at the red beverage. It stinked of vinegar, and he didn't know if his head hurt because of the stench, or because of the conversation ahead. He gulped down another mouthful and the drink burned his throat and his belly, clearing his mind.

 

Pythagoras reached for Hercules and put his hand on his forearm.

 

"You've been the best friend I've ever had, Hercules. A brother, even. I may have complained about a lot of things –"

 

"About me drinking too much. About my gambling habits. About the lack of food, of money..." Hercule grumbled.

 

Pythagoras smiled despite himself. "Yes, about all of that and more." He became serious again. "But I wouldn't change a day of the time we spent together. I love you dearly. You're family to me. Leaving you breaks my heart –"

 

Hercules finally turned toward him and interrupted him. "Then don't leave!" Tears shone in his eyes.

 

The squeezing in Pythagoras' guts had nothing to do with the cheap wine he had drunk. "I wish I could! I don't have your strength, nor your courage." He gazed at the lively crowd of the tavern. Did they have troubles too? Was it the reason why they came here? "I'll probably survive Icarus'..." He swallowed loudly, the word trying to stay in his throat, where it wasn't real. "... demise." He turned to Hercules. "But I need time alone, to find my own path. I need to mourn. And sailing towards Colchis, where so many dangers await us, won't leave me time for it."

 

With tears running down his cheeks, Hercules nodded without looking at him. "I understand that nothing I could say will change your mind. I'll miss you." His voice, usually a trompet of a voice, strong and loud, sounded like that of a shy child.

 

It was Pythagoras' turn to cry – when he had thought his eyes had dried up. "I'll miss you too, my friend."

 

Ignoring the embarrassed glances of the tavern's clientele, Pythagoras stood up, walked around the table and took Hercules in his arms, hugging him like his life depended on it. After a few awkward secondes, Hercules returned his embrace.

 

It was several minutes before they parted. They wiped their faces and exchanged sad smiles.

 

"It's time," Pythagoras finally said. "Do you want to take the wine? I paid for it, after all."

 

Hercules drank his cup bottoms up. "This shitty excuse for alcohol? Never! What do you take me for!"

 

"For my best friend," Pythagoras replied, squeezing Hercules in a one arm hug.

 

They left the flagon on the table and exited.

 

*****

 

They met with the others in front of Pythagoras' ship. From afar, Pythagoras had noticed the anxious looks around and their general uneasiness. In the middle of the bustling harbor, they stood out like a sore thumb with their nervous attitude and their acting like a frightened pack of stray dogs.

 

They relaxed as soon as they saw Hercules and him smiling.

 

Jason strode to him. "They're about to leave," he said before hugging him. "Are you sure?"

 

There was no turning back. Pythagoras nodded.

 

"You were the first person I met in Atlantis, and your help and friendship have been precious to me ever since. You'll be missed, triangle guy."

 

Tightly held by Jason's arms, Pythagoras enjoyed these few moments of warmth. They chased away some of the coldness that had settled in his heart with Icarus' death.

 

Jason released him and looked right into his eyes while cupping his face. "I hope you find peace and happiness, wherever you go. You deserve it."

 

"Thank you, Jason. It means a lot to me."

 

Jason winked at him and let him go.

 

Ariadne was next. "I want to thank you for everything you've done and risked for me." She kissed his cheek and he felt his face flush with embarrassement. Though their relationship had been friendly, they had never shared such an intimate moment. Ariadne's sincerity brought new tears to his eyes.

 

"I wish you all the happiness in the world."

 

"My Queen, I thank you." Pythagoras bowed slightly.

 

Pythagoras was about to board when Cassandra stopped him with a hand on his forearm. "The Gods have spoken."

 

"What have they said?" he asked, dread shaking his voice.

 

She closed her eyes and squeezed his flesh between trembling fingers. "You must learn about life and death, then you'll meet again."

 

Pythagoras' heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

 

"I don't know, my vision has darkened," she replied as her eyes opened. "The Gods didn't let me know the meaning of their message. You'll have to find out the truth behind those words."

 

Pythagoras nodded, waved one last time at his friends, and went on the boat. Only when all of them were but speckles of dirt on the horizon did he allow himself to crumble in tears.

 


	4. Chapter four

Sais baked under the Mediterranean sun but the streets Pythagoras was strolling through looked too dim and full of odd shadows, as if something was lurking in the darkness. The constant hubbub coming from the market place and the harbor both, and the Nile's loud rumble were drowned by the words that kept replaying in his mind. _Atlantis has disappeared._

 

When Pythagoras opened the door of the house he shared with Thales, he welcomed the sudden silence with a sigh and the inside chillness with a shiver. Relief didn't last though, as Thales peeked around his room's door, his large friendly face inquisitive behind a thick grey beard. Sometimes, when Pythagoras looked at him, it felt like Hercules had finally carried out his plan of growing a beard to become unrecognizable. In those moments, he missed his friend. Another shiver shook him; what had happened to Hercules?

 

Unfortunately, Sonchis hadn't been able to tell him much about his friends' fate. The old priest had hugged him when he arrived at the temple of Neith for his daily medicine lesson, but the embrace had left a bad aftertaste: it had been too long and too tight. Fear had suffused Pythagoras' thoughts instantly.

 

"You're back early," Thales noticed.

 

As much as he liked the old mathematician – three years was a long time to live with someone without developping some kind of feeling – he never opened to him completely. Pythagoras hadn't had much luck in friendship until now, and he refused to let someone else plant their roots in his heart. But Thales' worries were genuine; he deserved an answer.

 

"Sonchis had some news from Atlantis."

 

"Oh."

 

Thales' non-intrusive reply spurred Pythagoras into elaborating. "The city has been flooded. Nothing's left." With the words came the images of Atlantis' sturdy walls crumbling under the strain of waves too strong. Of Jason and Hercules drowning. Of his past disappearing under the sea. Under the ocean. A memory struck him and he widened his eyes. _Jason knew. He had known from the start._

 

Thales put a warm hand on Pythagoras' shoulder. "I'm sorry, my young friend." He retreated in his room.

 

Left alone in the hall, Pythagoras let go of his restraint and cried, for the first time in three years.

 

*****

 

Rolls of papyrus covered their table. Pythagoras listened to Thales with attention, bent over the piece of potery Thales was drawing on.

 

"You see, if you use a 5 foot stick in this way and you measure the distance from the object, you can figure out its height." With broad strokes, Thales traced a triangle.

 

Despite the old man's fascinating geometry lessons, Pythagoras was no closer to find the answer to the mysteries of the triangle he had been seeking for too long. He remained hopeful only because Jason had called him 'triangle guy', and his friend seemed to have known things from their future.

 

Jason... Since the horrible news about Atlantis two years before, Pythagoras' mind had kept coming back to Jason and Hercules, and to the happy life in their small house in Atlantis. Everything was gone. Dead.

 

"Are you listening?"

 

Thales' question startled him. "Sorry! Please, continue."

 

Thales put down his stylus. "When you came to me, willing to learn everything about geometry and mathematics, I was more than happy to become your teacher. You're a capable student." He scratched his thick mop of grey hair. "To be honest, I hoped that working with you would help me get deeper into the truth of life and death. It's hidden somewhere inside these," he said, grabbing an armful of rolls.

 

Pythagoras' thoughts drifted away once again. "You must learn about life and death, and you'll meet again," Cassandra had said. Did she mean Hercules? Jason? Or even Icarus? _I must ask Sonchis._ He stood up and left the house for the temple, ignoring Thales' calls.

 

*****

 

"Are you sure?" Thales asked.

 

Was he? Sonchis had told him about the stories coming from Thrace, and new intringuing words: reincarnation, transmigration. His project to sail to the far away kingdom had been blessed, and Pythagoras saw no reason to give up now. "I am." He shook Thales' hand, making sure to keep him at arms' distance. "I thank you for everything you taught me."

 

"I hope your soul find peace, my young friend."

 


	5. Chapter five

The whole tribe formed a circle around the tomb where old Dareios was lying. They were chanting. "I am a son of Earth and starry sky. I am parched with thirst and am dying; but quickly grant me cold water from the Lake of Memory to drink." Mostis, the priest, knelt beside the open grave and slipped a coin in the dead's mouth, a Maenad figurine by his side and a golden leaf between his hands. Pythagoras had seen the priest work on the leaf; Mostis had engraved instructions for Dareios in his afterlife.

 

For the past six months, Pythagoras had been living with the Thracian tribe, learning much about burying rituals with Mostis. The man looked like he had reached a hundred years a few decades ago, his skin withered and as thick as leather, his hair whiter than foam; yet Pythagoras had seldom seen so much energy in a human being. He also answered every question with kindness, and that was all Pythagoras needed of him.

 

Sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, he dreamed of Neapolis though, imagining its walls and houses and temple. When he arrived in Thrace, he heard of Neapolis' king, Jason, and his wife, Ariadne. The city, built on the outskirts of the former city of Atlantis, was flourishing. There were news of Hercules too, who was accomplishing incredible labours across the kingdom. Pythagoras mourned only one person now: Icarus. Love had been banished from his heart since Icarus' fall. But Cassandra had told him the words of the Gods: they should meet again some day, if only he discovered the truth about life and death.

 

When the grave was filled and the funerary stele planted, Pythagoras retreated inside Mostis' house.

 

"You promised you would tell me the origin of your beliefs at the next burial." Pythagoras had to fight against the eagerness that made his voice's pitch too high.

 

The priest sat down in front of the fire and invited Pythagoras to join him with a wave of his hand, not even looking at him. "That I promised, and I shall respect my words." He nodded, the tendons in his neck almost audibly creaking, threatening to break under the strain.

 

Pythagoras waddled with excitement and settled on the hard ground, on the other side of the fire. The flames crackled and he feared they would cover Mostis' weary voice. He bent forward, coming as close to the fire as he dared.

 

"Orpheus came back from Hades after he went there to look for his wife, and brought us the story of Dyonisus who was dead and born again. We believe every human being does the same, either as another human being or as an animal. And so, in a spiral of life and death, we get closer to the Gods until they welcome us in their kingdom," Mostis said in one go, barely breathing in after the word 'animal'.

 

Hearing the name of Orpheus flooded Pythagoras' mind with memories.  _He went to look for her._ Knowing now what the old and blind man had gone through for love, Pythagoras felt guilty for not doing the same for Icarus.

 

As if he had read his thoughts, Mostis shook his head. "Orpheus failed at bringing back Eurydice though."

 

Pythagoras gasped; a strong feeling of grief sent a chill to his bones. Death was Fate, and Fate was undefeatable. How learning about life and death could help him see Icarus again?

 

*****

 

For several years, Pythagoras travelled from tribe to tribe, each one suscribing to a slightly different version of the same core of beliefs. Sometimes, the instructions for the dead were written on bones. Sometimes, Orpheus wasn't part of the story.

 

Based on those, he developed his own concept of metempsychosis. Souls, bound to the cycle of rebirth, came back in the bodies of either humans or animals, therefore consuming animals was a serious crime. If Pythagoras was right, Icarus could already be back, and, as the Gods had decided, they would meet again. He searched for him in babies' face, in every dog he saw. With no luck. Frustration never settled in his mind though: he trusted the Gods. It would happen at the right time.

 

One day, Pythagoras decided to go back to Samos for a while. With getting older, visiting his brother seemed more and more important – one never knew when the time to say goodbye would come. And regrets lasted a lifetime.

 


	6. Chapter six

Arcas welcomed him and offered him a room in his house for as long as he needed.

 

He reacquainted himself with the town he had spent his early years in. Samos seemed smaller, almost constricting. The sea smelled of rotting fish and the air was stiffling. Everyday, Pythagoras walked through another part of Samos, another labyrinth of streets and alleys that looked pretty much the same as the others.

 

During one of his strolls, he walked past a blacksmith's shop. The men were striking anvils with their tools, producing harmonious sounds that intrigued Pythagoras. He observed them for some time before rushing back home. He locked himself in his room.

 

When he didn't come out the next day, Arcas knocked on his door. "Dear brother, are you feeling well?" Arcas asked, his voice muffled through the thick wood of the door.

 

Pythagoras didn't look away from his pieces of potery. Diagrams and numbers covered them. Something about sound and length... "Would you be so kind and help me?"

 

"Anything!"

 

"Could you bring me strings and shears?"

 

When he finally reappeared days later – hair dishevelled, dark circles under his eyes, a few pounds lighter – Pythagoras had a theory about music and mathematics he was proud of. He went downstairs to the kitchen and ate everything on the shelves, in front of his astonished brother.

 

*****

 

The quiet life in Samos with his brother almost made him forget Icarus, but the Gods hadn't forgotten him.

 

One sunny day, Pythagoras wandered to a remote part of the town, abandoned from its inhabitants. He sat on a collapsed wall and watched the sea from afar. A tweet from above made him level up his eyes: a small bird was perched on the roof. It was grey and red, with dark eyes, and was looking at him. After one more tweet – Pythagoras could have sworn it was saying hello – it flew to him and landed on the wall beside him.

 

At once, feelings that he had banished years before assailed him and he gasped. He remembered hugs and gentle gestures, brown eyes in which he could have lost himself, a smile that melted his heart. "Icarus?" he asked, feeling less and less foolish with each passing second.

 

The bird turned toward him and chirped once more.

 

With tears welling in his eyes, Pythagoras reached for it, holding his palm open without a word. The bird hopped in his hand happily.

 

"My love, we meet again," Pythagoras said as tears rolled down his cheeks. Faced now with what the Gods had expected, Pythagoras found himself short of words. He brought the bird closer to his lips and kissed the top of its head. "There's so much I need to say..."

 

The bird shook itself a couple of times and settled in Pythagoras' hand.

 

"You were forgiven the moment I passed your door," Pythagoras started. "I wish you hadn't been stupid enough to risk your life..."

 

The bird chose this instant to peck at his hand. It didn't hurt, but the meaning was clear.

 

"Thank you for saving our lives. But I miss you."

 

They stayed like that for long minutes, in silence, until the bird stretched its wings – it was time to part again. Pythagoras put it on the wall. "Wait for me, my love. We'll meet again, in another life. I swear."

 

The bird opened its wings and flew away, leaving behind some hope for happiness.

 

 

*****

 

That evening, when he came back home, Pythagoras announced to his brother that he was leaving.

 

"Where are you going?" Arcas asked.

 

As he was packing his clothes, Pythagoras shrugged. "I don't know yet. I've visited most of this end of the Mediterranean sea, maybe I should go further to the West. To Magna Graecia for instance." He turned around and took his brother's hands. "I think I've found what I came here for, and it's time for me to leave. I must share my knowledge now."

 

*****

 

Arcas escorted him to the harbor the next day. They found a boat sailing to Magna Graecia. "Where are you going exactly?" Pythagoras asked.

 

"Croton," one of the sailors replied as he raised the mainsail.

 

Pythagoras hugged his brother. "That's where you'll find me if you need."

 

"Until we meet again," Arcas said.

 

When the boat left the harbor, Arcas was already back at his house. Pythagoras' heart didn't break. He knew now that no goodbye was forever.

 


	7. Chapter seven

Pythagoras covered his eyes when he stepped out of the cave for his morning stroll between the giant pines of the plateau of La Sila. The blazing sun reflected on the sea beyond Croton. So far away, the large city looked like an anthill. Sometimes, when the wind blew from the East, one could hear the clamour from the market.

 

Up there, the silence invited to meditate, and that was Pythagoras' plan when he went down the slopes in these early hours. The occasional cry from a wild animal – a bird or a wolf, or even a bear – accompanied him in his thoughts: they were all precious souls in a cycle of life and death.

 

That much he explained to his students when he came back from his walk. "And so, through metempsychosis, souls are reborn constantly."

 

"Is that why we're forbidden to eat meat?" asked a young woman who had joined him a few days before.

 

Excitement made his heart pound in his chest. Even at his age – his youth had slipped away like sand between fingers – Pythagoras still felt elation when he met a brilliant mind. He smiled. "It is so."

 

A dozen pupils lived with him in this cave – his school. Medicine, music, philosophy, mathematics, were the subjects those young people came to study, and Pythagoras was happy to teach. Diagrams and formulas covered the walls, allowing anyone to change a number or a line, depending on their discoveries. He remembered Thales' lessons fondly and followed his path; he discussed new concepts with them, waiting for some truth to emerge out of their conversations. He had already refined his theory about strings' length and tone in music.

 

After a fruitful session where they discussed Thales' theorem, Pythagoras offered to stay on the subject of triangles and drew one with a right angle on the wall behind him. "We already know that there's a relation between the length of the hypotenuse and the length of the other two sides. I've been looking for a proof of this for years, and I was hoping you could help me."

 

One student suggested to cut several triangles of the same size in leaves and to manipulate them, which they did. As they noticed things, Pythagoras noted everything on the wall.

 

They spent two days on the triangles, playing with their shape, assembling them. By the end of the second day, Pythagoras felt they made little progress and maybe he had to give up: it wasn't the right time yet. He passed between the students, looking at what they had done, when he noticed that two groups of four people had come up with different figures, with squares appearing in the midst – one big one in the first, two smaller in the second. He frowned and scratched his mostly grey hair; intuition told him he was on the right path. "Have you tried measuring the surface of those squares?" he asked both groups.

 

They did, and they wrote the figures on the wall. They all looked at the numbers with intense focus, but it was Pythagoras who understood them. Between the surfaces of the two little squares, he drew a plus sign, and an equal sign between those and the surface of the bigger square. It added up. Of course, the squares in the formula meant squares' surfaces. The figures appeared to glow on the wall.  _I've made it, Jason. I've found my theorem._

 

Pythagoras' pupils were quite surprised to see their teacher cry when he turned around.

 

*****

 

Pythagoras knelt on the riverbank – knees and back both creaking – and plunged his hands in the stream. He gulped down fresh water from the cup of his palms. When the water's surface stilled, his reflection appeared.

 

He gasped at the sight of fine white hair in lazy curls and deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. Where had all those years gone? His hand moved by itself and touched the image, troubling it instantly. For a second, he saw himself in his twenties, bright blue eyes and mop of blond hair and smooth skin, and then it was gone.

 

Dumbstruck, he fell on his back, on wet grass and mud. His teeth rattled and the subsequent bolt of pain in his jaw reminded him of his general bad shape. "I'm old," he told the trees around him; they didn't care. Deep in his bones, he knew time was running out, but teaching young men and women had made him forget his age.

 

As fast as he could, he walked back to the cave, where he gathered his students together. There were more now – around forty. They sat around the fire, in the middle of the main hall, and whispered to each others, waiting for Pythagoras to talk.

 

He cleared his throat. "It is time for me to do a spiritual retreat." His statement was received with confusion and denial. He waited for his pupils to calm down before he resumed. "I leave the school to Philolaus, my most trusted student and one of the first who joined me."

 

From his place on the ground, Philolaus' eyes widened. He looked around, blushing under the other students' stares.

 

"Now go on with your daily routine." Pythagoras clapped his hands and they all went back to their chores and studies while he retreated to his room.

 

His meager possessions lay packed on his bed, with a special item on top of the pile. He was reaching for it just as Philolaus knocked on the wall. "Come in."

 

Wringing his hands, the – not so young anymore – man stepped inside. "I'm most honored, Pythagoras –"

 

"But you're scared." Pythagoras grabbed both Philolaus' shoulders. "Follow the principles I've been teaching you for years, and you're going to be fine. I know it."

 

Philolaus' eyes gleamed with tears. "I'll make sure your teachings are known everywhere."

 

The promise swelled Pythagoras' heart. He smiled and hugged Philolaus. "Go now. You have a school to lead."

 

Alone once again, Pythagoras wiped his eyes. He sighed deeply and went back to the special item. With some glue, he attached it to his chin. A fake beard. Hercules would be proud of him.

 

Unrecognizable, he sneaked out of the cave and walked to Croton, where he boarded a boat to Neapolis.

 


	8. Chapter eight

The travel was more eventful than the last time he was on a ship. His old bowels didn't take well the shaking of the boat; he spent most of the journey either sleeping in his room or vomiting on the deck. He lost weight, and the captain of the ship couldn't hide his worries any longer.

 

"We'll reach Athens in two days. You should disembark there."

 

Pythagoras wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. "No."

 

The captain held out a goatskin and helped Pythagoras drink of it. "I fear for your life, sir. You could rest for a while in Athens, and board another ship later."

 

"Don't worry," he said with a less than assuring smile. He gulped down a mouthful of water but choke on it and coughed for several second. The captain rubbed his back until he felt better. Pythagoras gave him back the goatskin. "I have to go to Neapolis. If I wait too long, I may never be able to."

 

*****

 

A week later, Pythagoras was on the deck, throwing up overboard, when the cry of a sailor made his heart pound. "Neapolis right ahead!"

 

With his old and tired blue eyes, he checked the horizon and, there it was: a beautiful city, its white walls in stark contrast with the dark forest behind. The palace, gold and marble, was a bright spot, visible even from so far away. The sight warmed Pythagoras' heart, which skipped a beat.

 

The warmth spread in his chest and became painful. Breathing was difficult, his lungs two balls of fire inside his ribcage. In agony, he fell on his knees as his body failed him. Clutching the rail between weak fingers, he looked at Neapolis and his heart finally stopped. As death drew dark curtains on the world, he smiled. "I'm coming, Icarus," he said with his last breath.

 

He was buried in Neapolis, and King Jason, helped by his sons – the old King could barely stand on his own anymore – attended the ceremony.

 

Pythagoras' body still lay under the ground. What became of his soul, nobody knows.

 


End file.
